I Should've Known

Chapter Twelve - Birthday.

Chapter Twelve: Birthday.

He was so bloody nervous.

It was as if he was a schoolboy on a Sunday evening. And no, he wasn’t trying to quote what that British dude said on the movie ‘Letters to Juliet’, which made him think about that very movie that he watched with Taylor a few days backs. Well anyway, yeah, maybe he did quote him in one way or another. But it was because he was feeling a very similar thing.

He just didn’t want time to fly fast. But, Ed swore that he could hear the ticking noise of a clock somewhere that had been haunting him since that morning.

In his whole life as a singer-songwriter, that was his very first time to feel nervous – well, technically not the first. That was just a bit of an exaggeration. It was actually, well, around the hundredth time, he supposed. But among all those ‘butterflies-in-the-stomach’ kind of things (although Ed didn’t want to use that term; he thought that it was very girly and it would be very unmanly for him to use), his stage fright that day was really bothering him a lot.

Actually, he had felt the very same feeling when he used to play for a few people in pubs around London years ago. But that was different already. That was not what he was doing anymore. Before, he used to sing and play his guitar for a handful of people who didn’t really care about his songs and didn’t really listen to him at all, but on that day, it was different.

That was a very long time ago. He would not be playing for people who would kick him out from the stage and throw bottles at him. Not anymore. For that day, he would playing for thousands of people who were waiting for him outside, excited to see him and listen to his songs. And it wasn’t just any normal day—it was his birthday for goodness sake! Ed was nervous to get up on that stage and see his smiling fans, anticipating for his arrival and performance.

Relax, Edward, he told himself, taking deep breaths. That’s it, breathe.

But still, he could hear his heart pumping loudly against his chest and echoing in his ears. His hands were clammy and he couldn’t even stay put anymore or sit down on the couch or something. He was pacing back and forth in his dressing room, biting his lip and occasionally running his hand over his red hair as Stuart watched him in amusement.

“Are you nervous?” the older man asked him as he rested his chin on his propped hand. Stuart was sitting on the end of the couch, smiling evilly at the redhead.

Ed rolled his eyes at his manager. “Isn’t it obvious?” the orange-haired young artist snapped, rubbing his palms together uneasily. It was visible that he was distracted, and he couldn’t even decide if he wanted to put his hands inside his sweater pockets or not.

Stuart shrugged at Ed’s rather bad mood and smiled at him. “Have you ever told yourself to relax?”

“I’ve been telling that to myself for half an hour now, Stu. It just doesn’t fucking work,” Ed clicked his tongue, running his hand over his already messy hair. “I mean, I’ve done this before. Hundreds of times already. I’ve played for a lot of people, for the Queen and for whole bunch of other famous people. The number of people that I had to play for before may be even more than the audience for the gig today, but still, I’m nervous!”

His manager studied him for a moment before nodding at the space beside him. “Sit down, Edward. Give yourself time to relax. Calm down,” Stuart told him.

“Haven’t you been listening to me—”

“Give yourself a break, Mr Edward Christopher Sheeran, and sit down,” Stuart ordered him, his voice dangerously low. “Or may God or whoever is up there forgive me to what I might do to you if you wouldn’t just listen to me for one more fucking time—”